Lose Your Mind, Lose Your Clothes
by Wilted Words
Summary: Everyone loses something along the way. Silly Drunkenness. Slash, John/Sherlock.


**A/N: Just silly drunkenness and slash.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own.**

**Lose Your Mind, Lose Your Clothes**

I slowly glide my fingers down his pale chest towards his lean torso. He's perfect, utterly perfect. I look into his liquid metal eyes and see trust, love, and most definitely lust. I don't know what he sees reflected in my own eyes, but he must like it because he smiles at me. He smiles one of his charming smiles that could bring whole countries to their knees. I smile back at him, though my smile is nothing compared to his, compared to his full lips. I lean down and grab his bottom lip with my teeth and nip lightly, I hear him groan beneath me. I feel my heart rate go up a little at the sound, how is it he can turn me on so easily? I wish I knew.

I let his bottom lip go and pull my head up and away from him so I can look into his eyes again, god I love his eyes, I love all of him. His eyes are blazing, a fire that consumes me every time he looks at me. I lean towards him and bring our lips together, chaste at first, but soon grows hungrier. I swipe my tongue along his top lip and do the same to the bottom, he gets the hint. He opens his mouth and I sweep my tongue into his mouth, and our tongues start their own dance. My eyes flutter closed when our tongues meet and so do his. I feel his hand running through my hair (even though it's short due to the military) every now and then digging his fingernails in lightly to stroke my scalp. I moan into his mouth, I feel him smile against my lips. Our tongues still twirling and twining to their own rhythm.

I bring my hand that has stopped its exploration up to his face, and cup the side of his cheek. My thumb moves gently back and forth over his cheek bone, my other hand supporting myself over top of him. I feel him squirm beneath me, providing delicious friction to our straining desires. He breaks away from the kiss, much to my chagrin, but I guess oxygen is important, but not as important as kissing him.

"John, please. Please touch me, _please_." The only time I've ever heard the man beneath me beg was never. Needless to say, it's a turn on, a _big_ turn on.

"Whatever you want, whatever you want Sherlock," because I don't think I could deny this man anything.

The main question is how we got to this point. Well, that's a tricky one because honestly I don't know when 'these' feelings started, but they did. But you want to know how it ended up that Sherlock and I, Dr. John Watson, ended up on the sitting room floor snogging each other senseless? Well, now that's kind of a funny story, you see-

_Eight hours ago:_

"That case was easy enough for a toddler to solve! How did Lestrade not know it was the former fiancé's mistress' sister? Idiots," Sherlock scoffed. I looked over at him, grinning slightly because I know most people wouldn't have been able to figure out this most recent case. He looked over at me and gave me a small grin himself, then turned his attention to his phone, endlessly tapping away. The rest of the cab ride back to 221B Baker Street went like that, with Sherlock thoroughly engrossed in his phone.

When we arrived at our address we got out and I paid the Cabbie, per usual and followed Sherlock up the stairs to our flat and went straight for my chair. Sherlock flopped down on the couch, with his feet hanging over the arm rest. He put his forearm over his eyes and breathed deeply.

"Bored," I give Sherlock and incredulous look.

"Really Sherlock, we just got home and you only just finished solving your last case," I look at my watch, "15 minutes ago!" Sherlock removes his forearm from over his face and looks at me.

"Doesn't matter, still bored." He swings over the couch, now sitting up right, and glances around the flat, his eyes finally landing on me. "John, we should go out." I choked a little on that last statement.

"What?" I look Sherlock in the eyes and see that he's dead serious.

"Like go to Angelo's, now that the case is over the digestion process won't slow me down, and it's been four days since I had a good meal." He replies looking innocent as ever while I'm just gaping like an idiot.

"You want to go out…On a date….With me?" I must look like a fish out of water by this point, because my mouth is just working on its hinges, opening and closing. Sherlock though just nods his head in affirmation. Well then, guess we will be going out on a date.

"John, it's really alright. Flat mates go out together to dinner all the time. But if it is easier on your delicate sensibilities then you can call it something other than a 'date'." Sherlock gets up taking off his shirt, one of his nice button-up shirts. I just keeping gaping, going out on a date is one thing, but now a strip tease?

"Sherlock, What are you doing?" I stand up from my seat and just sputter at him. He regards me as if I'm totally mad. I think he even rolled his eyes at me!

"Well, I don't want to wear a dirty shirt when we go out. We did work up a bit of sweat running all over London collecting evidence, hence why I deemed it necessary to change clothes." He turns his back to me and starts up the stairs to his room. He stops half way up though and tells me I should do the same, unless we want to get thrown out of the restraint due to smelling like homeless urchins.

After a nice long shower I grab a towel and wrap it around my waist and head up to my room. I find a nice pair of jeans and a nice collared shirt, I mean it is a 'date' per say, why not try and look nice? I towel dry my hair until it's just damp and lays limp on my head. I grab some of my hair gel that I haven't used in ages and try to style my hair somewhat. I look at the finished product in the mirror and I really can't tell a major difference from before applying the hair gel. The only difference I can see is that my hair just looks purposely messy now, not just unintentionaly messy. I frown a little, not what I was going for, but I heard the 'just-rolled-out-of-bed' look is still in, I hope.

I finally make my way down stairs and find Sherlock on _my_ laptop, doing Lord knows what. I see that he is wearing his customary casual suit, not that I mind, the man can pull off a suit. He turns his head to me and smiles; one of his 'charming' smiles, one that will make most women weak in the knees. I flush a fierce pink, and cough a little into my fist, because t_hat_ look slightly unnerves me. Sherlock closes my laptop and sets it down on the floor and hops off the couch.

"You look very nice John," he walks up to me and appraises my outfit. I feel as though I should do a little spin to show off the whole get-up. I don't get the chance to make a comment about it though as Sherlock walks circles around me. "Yes, this will do." He says and comes to a halt in front of me again.

I look up into his face and see his pupils are slightly dilated and his gaze so intense, so riveted. I do another little cough again, because I _had_ to clear the tension that started building in the room. He then focuses on my eyes and paints a small smile on his lips.

"Ready, then?" He arches one eyebrow in question. I nod my head and begin to lead the way down the stairs.

We hail a cab and make are way over to Angelo's. The journey over to the restaurant is uneventful, passing the same London scenery. We reach our destination and pay the cabbie (_I_ pay the cabbie) and go inside. The restaurant has their lights dimmed down for a more romantic quality. I just roll my eyes; of course. Angelo, himself, seats us in a corner booth, secluded from the majority of the restaurant. Sherlock doesn't even look at the menu and just begins deducing the lives of the patrons around us.

"She is cheating on her husband with the gardener," He point to another women, "now she, she's not entirely committed to the man she's at the table with. She's just discovered her bisexuality and doesn't want to feel held down my moral constraints." He smirks a little and I try to look at the women he was talking about, without being obvious. The woman in question appears to be just a plain Jane, with brown hair, brown eyes, and a slight tan to her skin.

"Now, how did you deduce that? Wait; don't tell me it was by the way she held her fork? Or the way the way she sits?" I look back to him, disbelieving (although I do believe him, he's never wrong). He just smirks at me and replies with a cryptic "if I told you, it would ruin the magic of it all."

Angelo comes by our table and serves us each a glass of his 'finest' wine. He takes our food orders and we are again left alone, sipping our wine. Somewhere in the back of my mind I think I probably shouldn't be drinking, not with the way Sherlock is staring at me. He keeps raking his eyes up and down, from head to waist. I pour myself more wine, because what can it hurt?

After finishing off our delectable dinner and four bottles of wine, both Sherlock and I are pleasantly full and thoroughly hammered. We weave our way out to the curb to try and catch a cab back home; Sherlock stumbles slightly and I reach out my arm and catch him before he stumbles out into the street. He giggles a little then looks back up at me and gives an undistinguishable 'thank you' (though it sounded more like 'sank oo'). I just giggle myself and tell him 'of course, of course'. We finally get a cab and begin our journey back to Baker Street.

The drive back home is a blur of street lamps and fits of laughter; I know the cabbie can't wait to be rid of us. I must admit I have never seen Sherlock like this, relaxed and free; I think I like it. Sherlock swivels his head back and forth, following the light cast by the street lights, it makes me giggle even more. He just turns his towards me and smiles so wide, it seems to take over his whole face. We finally pull up outside Baker Street, we shuffle our way out of the back seat; barely remembering to pay the cabbie before heading inside.

We fumble our way up the stairs and stumble into the dark sitting room, trying to locate a lamp, or any light source for that matter. I find the floor lamp and reach to turn it on, almost knocking it over in the process; it's all embarrassing really. Sherlock collapses heavily onto the couch, legs stretched out in front of him; his head lolling around on his chest.

I make my way over to him, and sit down next to him. He brings his head away from his chest, with what appears to be a lot of will power, and just smiles at me. I can't say if it's the alcohol that makes me mesmerized by those lips or if it's because I've always found him compelling. I lean over to him and whisper into his ear.

"Sherlock, you're amazing." He's still smiling, but his eyes bore into mine, and I can see his feeling clearly reflected there, and they make my breath hitch and my face flush. "You're gorgeous," I stutter out, I seem to have lost my filter, and ramble out anything that comes to mind; damn wine! He giggles at me and leans over to me, his breath ghosting over my ear, "John you're my everything," I feel a shiver run down my spine.

Sherlock's giggles die down and he just looks over at me, and then proceeds to try and stand. I know its coming before it even happens, so when he starts to tip over, I leap up from the couch to catch him. Unfortunately for the both of us, I'm completely intoxicated and we both going careening towards the floor. We land with a heavy thud that I know has surely awoken Mrs. Hudson. I push myself up from the floor in a sitting position, and grab my head; I'll feel that one in the morning. I look over to my left and see Sherlock face up on the floor, tears streaming down his face, and I'm instantly worried; reverting into doctor mode.

"Sherlock! Sherlock! Are you alright? Where are you hurt? Do you need help sitting up? Can you even move?" It's all a little over dramatic, but my brain is impeded by the amount of alcohol I have consumed. Sherlock then pushes himself up on his elbows, and looks over at me, and I see that he's laughing, little jerky puffs of breath coming from his lips. I instantly relax and join him in his laughter.

We can't seem to stop our giggles, and I can't imagine what we look like, two grown men on the floor, giggling. The laughter finally dies down till it's just little hitches of breath from between our lips. I crawl the short distance over to him and lay down next to him. He then lies back down on the hard, uncomfortable floor, and we just relish in the silence. I break the peace first.

"Sherlock," I turn my head and see that he's staring right back at me. I find that the words elude me when he looks at me like that and wonder how one man can have such a powerful effect over me. I find my voice again though, "did you mean what you said earlier? You know, about…me…you know…being…everything…to you?" I swallow the bile that had risen up to my mouth, and try to fight the flush that is breaking out over my cheeks. He keeps his eyes locked on mine and turns so that he is fully facing me, and reaches over with his hand and cups my cheek. He rubs his thumb in a small repetitive circle, and I lean into the caress. I turn over so that I mirror his position and slide closer, only a breath away.

"John, I don't have all the words to describe what you mean to me, so let me _show_ you." He moves the remaining inches and brings our lips together. It's soft and languid, just the brush of lips against one another, but I find it better than any kiss I've ever had. Sherlock pulls away all too soon, and stares into my eyes, and I understand. His kiss speaks of love, compassion, trust, longing, and desire; it's incredibly intoxicating.

I push myself up and over, so I'm lying over top of him, supported by my elbows and forearms. Sherlock just keeps that piercing gaze locked onto mine, and I lean down and bring our lips together again. A more constant pressure, my tongue glides across his lips, and I feel him gasp, allowing me access into his mouth. My tongue delves into his mouth sweeping over gums, teeth, and tongue; all I can think is that Sherlock tastes amazing, a hint of mint, a bite of the cool London air, and something completely indescribable, that is purely Sherlock.

I can't help the groan that escapes my lips, I feel Sherlock shift under me, bringing our pelvises together. Our straining cloth covered erections rutting against each other with the most delicious friction. I pull my mouth away from his, for some much needed air. I look at Sherlock and see his lips plump, red, and thoroughly debauched; it's the most beautiful sight I have ever laid eyes on. I push myself so I'm sitting on my knees and pull my shirt over my head; Sherlock pushes himself up into a sitting position and divests himself of his jacket and shirt as well. He leans up and captures my lips in another searing kiss.

I gently push at his chest, and we lay down on the floor again, our tongues stroking against one another, dancing to an enchanting rhythm. I break the kiss again, and just look down at his uncovered chest and abdomen, and see flawless porcelain skin laid out before me. I look back up into his eyes, and see his pupils blown black, and his breathing ragged and uneven; begging to be fucked.

I raise my hand and bring it up to his collar bone and leisurely let my fingers trace over his skin. I slowly glide my fingers down his pale chest towards his lean torso. He's perfect, utterly perfect. I look into his liquid metal eyes and see trust, love, and most definitely lust. I don't know what he sees reflected in my own eyes, but he must like it because he smiles at me. He smiles one of his charming smiles that could bring whole countries to their knees. I smile back at him, though my smile is nothing compared to his, compared to his full lips. I lean down and grab his bottom lip with my teeth and nip lightly, I hear him groan beneath me. I feel my heart rate go up a little at the sound, how is it he can turn me on so easily? I wish I knew.

I let his bottom lip go and pull my head up and away from him so I can look into his eyes again, god I love his eyes, I love all of him. His eyes are blazing, a fire that consumes me every time he looks at me. I lean towards him and bring our lips together, chaste at first, but soon grows hungrier. I swipe my tongue along his top lip and do the same to the bottom, he gets the hint. He opens his mouth and I sweep my tongue into his mouth, and our tongues start their own dance. My eyes flutter closed when our tongues meet and so do his. I feel his hand running through my hair every now and then digging his fingernails in lightly to stroke my scalp. I moan into his mouth, I feel him smile against my lips. Our tongues still twirling and twining to their own rhythm.

I bring my hand that had stopped its exploration up to his face, and cup the side of his cheek. My thumb moves gently back and forth over his cheek bone, my other hand supporting myself over top of him. I feel him squirm beneath me, providing delicious friction to our straining desires. He breaks away from the kiss, much to my chagrin, but I guess oxygen is important, but not as important as kissing him.

"John, please. Please touch me, _please_." The only time I've ever heard the man beneath me beg was… never. Needless to say, it's a turn on, a _big_ turn on.

"Whatever you want, whatever you want Sherlock," because I don't think I could deny this man anything. I sit back on my haunches and undo the button on his pants and slowly peel them down his lean, toned legs. I see his erection straining against his dove grey boxer shorts, knowing that he is this hard because of me, makes my mouth water. I palm him through his shorts; he arches his back off the floor and whimpers. I let my fingers lightly graze against him through his shorts, earning many moans and whimpers.

"John…John, please stop teasing me. _Please_," he keens. I grab the hem of his shorts and pull them down to his ankles and take his rigid sex in my hand. He whimpers and tosses his head to the side, biting his lip and shutting his eyes at the contact. I could almost cum just from looking at Sherlock enraptured with the pleasure I'm giving him.

I start a slow rhythm with my hand, running up and down his weeping sex. He brings his hand up to his face and bites down on his knuckles to keep from crying out. I use my other hand to gently roll his balls along my fingers, making Sherlock arch his back and bite down harder over his knuckles.

"Sherlock, let me hear you, I want to hear you." He just shakes his head from side to side. I initiate a more forceful rhythm along his length, running my finger over the head, spreading the pre-cum that is leaking there. I let the hand fondling his balls fall lower, and gently run the pad of my finger over his perineum. Sherlock thrust his hips upward, finally letting out a loud cry. Sherlock's breathing starts to grow heavy and ragged, his hips jutting up into my hand, I know he's close, so I speed up my movements. He soon loses his battle and comes with a harsh cry, his muscles seizing up, back arching off the floor.

When he comes back down from his orgasm he opens his eyes to stare right into mine, a smirk spreading over his lips. He sits up and pushes me back, so that our positions are now reversed. He kisses his was down my neck, nipping gently at the flesh, continuing down my chest, stopping to lap at my nipples; earning a loud groan from my lips. I can feel him smirk against my skin, smug bastard. He continues his path down my body, till he reaches the top of my jeans. His deft fingers work my button and zipper open, peeling the clothing down my legs. He all but rips my shorts down my thighs, leaving them to rest around my knees. He locks eyes with mine, and bends his head down to my painfully erect cock. His warm breath ghosts over the head, making a small whimper part from my lips. I try to push my hips up, to tell him to get on with it, but he just relishes in the slow torture. He places his hand down on my hip, effectively pinning me down.

His tongue licks along my entire length, to stop at the tip. His eyes still firmly connected to mine, he begins to ease his mouth around my length. He takes most of me in his mouth; the last inches are covered by his hand. I feel my breathing pick up, and my heart hammering against my chest; I know I'm not going to last long. He starts a languid pace hollowing his cheeks, and providing a delicious suction that has me crying out his name over and over again. He then lightly grazes his teeth over my sensitive flesh, and I feel my orgasm crash down over me, with a cry of Sherlock's name.

He lets my softening member slide out of his mouth, and he moves to lie down beside me. I try to move and get up, but my muscles protest, and my boxers still hanging around my knees impede the process. Sherlock just looks over at me and chuckles. I just glare over at him, not amused; forfeiting the fight to move, for the moment at least.

"So, Sherlock, do you think you'll regret this," I waive my hand in the space between us, "in the morning?" I query. Sherlock turns so that he's lying on his side and I follow suit; eyes locked on one another.

"I don't know if I have the adequate words to properly answer that question…but I can always _show_ you how much I don't regret this." And it's all I can do to not ravish him again.

**~Fin~**


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